Dew stood outside the House of Alchemy. One hand held the umbrella; the other clenched the recruitment papers, crushed into little more than pulp.

  “The requirements have changed,” the doorman had said. “Lady Ines moved on from the dragon heart a week ago. The experiment’s been pushed to next summer. Now she needs a vampire heart. Bring it, and you can be her assistant. Or see yourself out.”

  Dew let the crumpled papers fall, then ground them into tatters beneath his heel. He shook his head. This… this was a screw-up on a monumental scale.

  A whole month. A month spent jumping through hoops just to earn a seat with the Dragon clans. Sybilla’s grandstanding had soured their relations so badly they wouldn’t even entertain another human, let alone listen to a plan involving trading three of their worst scum in exchange for Dew securing an apology and compensation from her.

  They’d wanted to arrest him on the spot. Try him. Not for what he’d done, but for what he represented: kin to Sybilla, if only in profession. Refusal would have meant one thing.

  War. Against literal Gods.

  You didn’t kill a primordial being tens of thousands of years old and walk away. A price was always paid. Dew, however, was in no mood to pay it. It took every ounce of mana, spellcraft, and skill he had accumulated over the past centuries to put on a display of strength grand enough to make them reconsider.

  Once they were willing to talk, Dew agreed to aid their efforts to capture Sybilla and see her tried for her crimes—on their terms, in their domain. In return, they would abandon the idea of war. Humanity posed no threat to them. He would see to that.

  Hands were shaken. It was settled. And still, Dew had no hearts.

  Another three months vanished as he circled Indrath, King of Dragons, rooting out corruption, treason, and political ambition across his dominion before the dragon finally relented. Even then, he would not allow their deaths. Instead, Dew was permitted to borrow their hearts, fragments of near-limitless power, for a year. And return them intact.

  Finally, after four grueling months, he had the hearts. And now he couldn’t use them for a year, because he was late by a week.

  “A damn week,” Dew hissed, dragging a hand down his face as he exhaled.

  He could have killed any lesser dragons roaming the continent and been done with it. Inessa hadn’t asked for hearts brimming with limitless mana; she hadn’t specified at all. No. It was his own infinite wisdom that had gotten in the way: No collateral damage. Kill only those who deserved it.

  Sure, he could try to convince the professor. Or the academy. But then he’d have to invent a story, one explaining how he’d stumbled onto something so rare only an Archmage could ever find. No. He couldn’t do that.

  Dew rolled his neck and loosened his shoulders. So much effort. So much time spent. Only to do it all over again.

  Fine. This time, he’d do it quickly.

  .

  .

  .

  The bustle was returning. Horses neighed, wheels rolled, people chatted and coughed, sound spilling back into the streets as the rain eased. Lanterns reclaimed their glow with the coming evening, lighting the city once more.

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  Dew moved quickly, away from the academy and into the still-dark alleys. A call to [Inventory], a quick selection, and his noble attire faded, replaced by familiar rags and coat. He ran a hand over his face. The mask came off. He slipped it away and pulled on another, the face of a poor, malnourished fellow. Meant for a different scenario, but the situation called for it.

  Dew emerged onto the street and turned left, blending into the crowd as he headed for the eastern quarter. It housed the Redspire port, with the beach running beside it. If he could avoid it, he would. The sea made him sick. The fish people hated him. But without an academy pass to slip past the gate scanners, he was stuck.

  He glanced toward the walls. He could jump them, except the wards reached into the air itself, designed to stop exactly that. Teleportation, then. No. Redspire blocked every spell of that category, and forcing it would draw far too much attention. And he had to return immediately.

  Dew grimaced. All this, because of a damn week.

  A moment later, he was outside the Red Port. He took a right, following the red brick wall along the coastline until it gave way to sandy meadows. Wet sand sank beneath his boots as Dew crossed the beach and into the sea.

  The wardings extending from the port didn’t react. They still wasted his time. With mana restrictions imposed, he had no choice but to swim— Dew squinted ahead. Through the fog, the Gallop Islands were barely visible. The jagged tips were there. Ten minutes, with effort.

  A knot settled in his stomach. The salty air didn’t help. He pulled off his coat. Val sprang out. Dew shared his plan, and she shifted into a raven and vanished toward the islands.

  Dew exhaled through his nose. Lucky girl.

  He set aside his shoes and shirt and stowed them. Left in his trousers, he stretched once, then stepped into the water. His skin prickled as the cold took hold. He pushed on until there was no ground. He floated, about to dive—

  HONK!

  A ship horn blared. Then another. And another, until a dozen sounded at once, their noise deafening. A thousand steps followed: men, horses, wagons, all racing to work. Bells clashed wildly. Men screamed, cursed, ran, collided. Someone went down. Another followed. Fists flew. Guards rushed in, screaming themselves hoarse to clear lanes that vanished the moment they formed.

  The chaos was palpable. With the rain ceased, the waves settled, and the air pressing outward from the harbor, conditions were as good as any for the hundreds of ships lining the piers, readying to depart.

  Dew spotted the patrol boats already in the water, sweeping the harbor. They were heading his way. He inhaled once and slipped under. He swam straight ahead, careful not to disturb the surface, driving himself into deeper water. Just ahead, the wardings ended.

  Mana flooded his palms. He blasted upward, erupting from the sea as towering slabs of rock surged to meet him, waves shattering against their flanks.

  [Float]

  He hovered above the stone. He opened his veins. Mana surged, burning away wet and cold from within and without. A thought, and his rags returned.

  Caw!

  Val dropped from above and landed on his shoulders, emerald eyes scanning his face, shifting ever so slightly as she took in his weariness.

  Dew waved off her worry. “Any fish people around?”

  Moryk, she shot back. Their name. And no.

  “Nereth,” Dew corrected. Their true name. Whatever. “And their Kraken?”

  He reached out. Nothing; not even in the deep waters where it usually lurked. Must have needed it elsewhere to project strength.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Val shifted back into a cat and slipped into his coat, peeking out.

  “Alright.”

  Dew’s fingers curled into fists as he drew a slow breath. He despised vampires. The last time he’d met one, sheer restraint had been the only thing standing between their race and extinction. Meeting them again, now—

  He chuckled.

  He would need to be quick. Very quick. Before wrath finished what reason still held back.

  “Yeah.”

  He mapped a point in the heart of the Kar’Velaryn Valley, at the northern edge of the continent. Then he cut off his innate mana and tapped into the extrinsic.

  [Worldfold]

  Mana surged, an enormous amount. The air stilled. Then it thrummed, growing heavy. The sea flattened, its motion arrested. Golden lightning crackled, threading through the pressure. The mountain peak groaned; stone splintered beneath his boots as the space around them bent and pulled. The horizon folded inward.

  A sound like breaking glass shattered the sky, and the world vanished.